Status: long time no see

so, yeah, it's kind of been a fucking year since i went to the hotel. oops! after a while i thought maybe it was Montag's sandbag, so i stopped wearing it to sleep (even though i knew if i actually woke up in the hotel it would probably piss her off royally to see me without it), but then four more months passed so i just gave up.

also, for all the comments hounding me about it, yes, i noticed the april entry. i just didn't really have much to say about it that felt useful, so i didn't. i just wonder how montag would feel, if she knew that her weird metaphysical-dream baggage has been dumped all over my personal blog without her permission. i feel kinda weird about it, to be honest, but there's not much i can do about it. and trust me, i did try. i've deleted all the posts i didn't write like four times each, and it never works. i don't know why i even try at this point. changed my passwords again, though, just for good measure. at this point i think i might be genuinely unhackable by any human criminal, i'm so good at coming up with secure passwords. unexpected benefits of being cyber haunted!

anyway.

when i finally woke up in the hotel again, i couldn't even be excited about it. because for the first time in history, i didn't wake up in my room. instead of the familiar scratchy sheets and dim grey walls, i was greeted by a senile mechanical creak and obnoxiously bright lights. i cracked my eyes open, and it took a few moments for my brain to piece together everything i was seeing. there was a splash of shiny grey, and a pair of legs in dark jeans, and warped, bright splotches that i slowly registered as reflections.

i was slumped in the corner of the elevator like a sun bear, baseball bat resting over my legs, chin drooping to my chest. the car was rattling upwards at an agonizing crawl. i lifted my chin, eyes still burning against the light, and took in the sight of an unfamiliar man. he was a good six feet tall, which made my current position feel even more ominous. when he saw i was awake and looking at him, he gave me a pleasant smile. "hi," he said politely, but something about its deliberate, familiar blandness reminded me of someone...

with an embarrassing amount of effort, i sat up on my haunches and raised the bat, whipping it within a few inches of his chest. he stepped further against the wall, which was satisfying. "identify yourself, Agent," i said, which felt like a very stupid thing to say, but i had to make sure.

his eyebrows briefly shot up with surprise (and, to my further satisfaction, maybe even a little fear), but then he settled right back down into polite nothingness. "Sinclair. i take it you're already familiar with Montag and Blake."

"Montag more than Blake," i said, holding up the pendant around my neck. "can i ask why the fuck i just woke up in the elevator with you? which, by the way, the elevator is not supposed to work, so i wouldn't mind knowing what's up with that?"

"oh, it's working just fine for me. i think it's a little confused, but i'm making do." before i could ask a follow-up on how an elevator can be confused, he held out a hand. i used the railing to haul myself up instead. unphased, he carded the hand through his curly hair instead. "you woke up here because i found you passed out in the broken hallway. i'll be honest, i wasn't looking for you. i've been, uh, busy with something that i guess took a lot longer than i thought, and i just left my room for the first time maybe a two hours ago. i've just been wandering around, trying to find my team, and then i found you instead." he frowned. "you are Naomi, right?"

"yes." my head was spinning, not least because the elevator kept shuddering and emitting these awful groans like it was about to freeze, or worse, start descending. why the hell had i woken up in the 'broken hallway'? i had to assume he meant my favorite hall, the one where the walls have fallen into blackness. as much as i love that place, the idea of being unconscious for who knows how long - and for what reason - next to that thick darkness was making my blood itch. i twirled the bat again, nearly whacking his arm on accident.

would've also been nice for Montag to mention that she had another teammate here with her, but whatever.

"wait, so you haven't found Montag or Blake?"

Sinclair shook his head. "do you have any idea where to look?"

"not for Blake. she has wonderful style, but the rest of her eludes me." he scoffed. "i can take you to Montag, though, as long as she's in her room."

"please," he said. he gestured loosely to the buttons on the wall. "i pressed for the lobby, but..."

"oh, no, we aren't going to the lobby." i started rapid-pressing the button for the pool, and kept rapid-pressing it even once the doors finally dinged open and slid aside to reveal the sickly yellow walls of the lobby level. with far too much reluctance for my liking, they whined back shut, and we started trundling down at a pace much more akin to a normal elevator; i was never so grateful to feel my stomach lurch. through all this, Sinclair just crossed his arms and said nothing.

he was older than me, older than Montag, but not by too much. his golden brown skin was dotted with freckles, and he smelled like sandalwood and vanilla. he was in a plain white hoodie and dark jeans, and his casuality mixed with Montag's honestly made me appreciate Blake's gaudy pinstripe pants and rings even more.

"so what were you doing that was so important you haven't left your hotel room?"

his mouth tilted up into a strange sideways smile. it looked like he was trying to be sarcastic, but there was a budding of something else underneath it. guilt, maybe? "reading."

Montag wasn't at the pool, which i kind of expected, but i figured we could start from here anyway just in case. Sinclair seemed to want to linger, leaning his head close to the glass doors to peer through, but he ignored when they slid open for him. he said, "huh," presumably about Silvia's drifting corpse, and then turned to follow me.

the stairwell was dark and echoey as always, and while i headed straight to the dim outline of the steps, Sinclair paused for a moment in the light of the doorway. i was halfway up to the first landing before he finally sighed, the sound echoing against the concrete walls, and came up after me. his shoes were silent, which just made mine seem to squeak and clomp louder. i could hear my own panting in my ears. pull it together, i muttered to myself.

once we reached the right floor, we wove through the halls at a quick clip. a large part of me wanted to break into a sprint, or, i don't know, bend over and start screaming my head off. to my immense credit i did neither.

i paused outside my own door first, hand halfway toward the knob. but something in me was warning not to go in there. so i shuffled over and rapped on Montag's door.

we waited. after a while, Sinclair said, "she's probably not in there," but knocked again himself, harder than i had. we waited some more. "yeah, she's not in there."

i took a steadying breath and shoved my bangs off my forehead, where they were beginning to stick with sweat. my hip was killing me. it felt like someone had run Montag's dagger through the root of my thigh and was twisting it slowly. "uh, okay. let's try the lounge. i don't know where else to try after the lounge."

so back down we went, Sinclair still silent all the while, me limping but trying valiantly not to. i could hear the lounge before it came into view, air pulsing with sticky, bland music. i did not have patience for the lounge, so if Montag wasn't in there i planned on immediately showing myself over to the arcade and playing frogger alone in the dark until either Rabbithead found me or i woke up.

the small room was bustling with people tonight, reduced to curls of light and shadow in the smoke and low light. i wove between the tables, squinting at everyone with just a little too much intensity, but no one bothered to look back. they were all absorbed in their cheap drinks and conversations.

all, that is, except for a woman sitting alone in the back of the room, at the table nearest the sage. well, so much for the rest of her eludes me. she was nursing a margarita and didn't seem all that surprised to see me, though her eyes almost bugged out of her head when she caught sight of my companion. once she'd finished coughing on her drink, she halfway shouted, "Sinclair, what the fuck! it's been like a month!"

Sinclair stepped past me, offering Blake a mix between a smile and grimace. "yeah, i figured that. how's it been gong? and where's Montag?"

"she was out on the road tonight, but she's supposed to be meeting me here once she's done." Blake used a boot to shove the chair across from her further from the table. "here, take a seat and i'll catch you up, slacker. you can sit too, Naomi. Montag said she'd invited you on the case, which to be transparent i am not a fan of, but i trust her judgement. she also doesn't really care what i think because she's a brat. so if you want to hang out with us and talk about the hotel being weird, you can, and i promise i probably won't record you this time."

she had her elbows on the table, chin resting atop her laced fingers, and when i met her gaze she actually fucking winked at me. "uh," i managed, "no, the table didn't give me a drink, so." which was a valid excuse, i thought. only one new drink had appeared on the the table, amber liquid in a whiskey glass which certainly wasn't intended for me. i was a 'weak and fruity' girl, and the hotel knew it. i waggled my bat as goodbye, nodded to Sinclair, and showed myself out before either of them could protest too much.

i'd told Sinclair we weren't going to the lobby. and if i was smart, i would've meant it. the lobby is where the road was, and the road was where i'd almost been killed. if i ever went back to the road it would be too fucking soon. but the road was also where Montag was, and suffice to say i wanted to know why. what were they looking for out there? more importantly, what were they finding?

i also had her little sand pouch now. that had to count for something, right? supposedly Rabbithead couldn't find me while i was wearing this. so maybe there was nothing to worry about.

the lobby was the same as it's always been, except the shuffling from the room behind the counter sounded frantic, like someone was jogging around in circles and throwing papers everywhere. i made a concerted effort not to look at the painting over the bench and, after a few gulping breaths, i stepped out into the cool night air.

the cracked parking lot was empty, lost in the dark beyond the dim glow of the entryway bulbs. wind rustled through the trees, a warning hiss. i took a few steps further out and let the door fall closed behind me with an uncomfortably final-sounding thud. my shoes crunched over dry weeds as i stepped further into the parking lot, then turned slowly to face the hotel itself.

it looked so bland from the outside. only two stories tall, plain beige paint, and not even an awning for cars to pull up under and unload. it looked more like a motel than anything, except the doors were on the side. dark windows stared out from the walls like dozens of gaping eye sockets. i wrapped both hands around the grip of my bat and forced myself to walk further away, toward the line of trees, toward the thin sliver of the hotel sign that marked the start of the road.

i could feel something hot dripping down my leg, and pain throbbed through it so bad that it nearly buckled on my next step. "fuck," i hissed, dropping to one knee and holding out the bad leg to examine it for blood. nothing. i'd imagined it. i bit back a hysterical burst of laughter and staggered back up, shuffling slowly across the driveway.

it was raining on the road, still, but there were no clouds in the sky. at least it wasn't steaming this time; for better or worse, i could see the asphalt clearly, along with dreary glimpses of the bases of pine trees on its opposite side.

and it was empty. Montag wasn't there. i craned my neck out as far as i could without actually leaving the (relative) safety of the driveway, squinting for any sign of movement in either direction. nothing.

so where the hell was she?

i turned back around and found myself face to face with Rabbithead. its head was tilted with something like curiosity. fresh gore was oozing from the hole in its sternum, and its cracked hands were lifted toward me. i didn't even have time to jump or squeal (trust me, though, i still did a lot of both) before it reached out, clammy skin brushing against my arm. it was panting, wet and frantic. i could see the muscles in its hand twitching.

for some reason, i almost feel like it was scared.

i stumbled sideways, crashing into a tree, and swung my bat as wide and as hard as i could. my eyes were squeezed shut, but i heard the satisfying thud as it made contact with something soft and fleshy - and then a familiar husky voice yelling, "what the fuck are you doing?"

i cracked open one eye, chest heaving. pine needles tangled with my hair and nipped at my cheeks and arms. Montag was swaying a few feet away from me, bent over with her hands on her knees as she coughed and swore and sneered up at me.

"oh my god, i'm so sorry, i thought you were-"

"yeah, shove it up your ass," she said, straightening up and taking another few steps away from me. "you've been gone for a week."

"i've been gone for a year, actually. your pretty boy found me passed out in a hallway and now i'm back here. Blake said you'd be out here, but i didn't see you on the-"

"yeah, i was standing over there in the middle of the fucking parking lot," she said, jabbing a hand forcefully back toward the hotel, "calling to you to come over, but you ignored me. and when it looked like you were about to wander off property i figured something was probably up and came to get you. thanks, by the way, i needed a new fucking liver."

i yanked myself out of the claws of the pine, kicking the bat away. at least i knew i was a good hitter. "look, i don't know what to say. i'm sorry. i didn't see you or hear you out here, and when i turned around just now all i saw was Rabbithead."

"has she ever even attacked you, Naomi? what's your deal with her? have you ever considered-"

"it's not a fucking she! how many times do i have to tell you people! and no, it hasn't, but only because i've always-"

"because you always beat it up, right. because it follows you. because..." she looked past me, to where rain was pattering silently against the ground. a fresh gust of wind rolled through, and i thought i could almost hear the caw of a raven from somewhere far away. "because something happened on the road. and you didn't understand what it was, or why, and that scared you."

"i have a gimp leg because of what happened on the road," i spat. "i'm not being irrational."

"no, not entirely." we glared at each other for a few tenuous moments, and then she added, so quiet it was almost a whisper, "and, Naomi, i know a little something about people trying to call you an it when you're not one. not even a creature like Rabbithead deserves that. call her she."

before i could ask for clarification, or bitch at her more, she turned and pointed (more calmly this time) in the direction of the hotel. it looked so meek out here, with its empty parking lot and lack of lights. my eyes were struggling to adjust to the dark, so i couldn't see what she was indicating. it was something in the far corner, a little smudge that stuck out from the building. "you ever been to the restaurant?"

"uh, no?"

"then walk with me. and don't fucking hit me again, or i will stab you."

i trailed a few steps behind her back across the lot, quietly relieved that i hadn't had to walk the road again tonight. but my head was spinning, and my heart was still sprinting a hundred miles an hour. i picked stray pine needles out of my hair, which had all but collapsed out of its buns. with some reluctance - and my scalp screeching in protest - i yanked the pony tail holders all the way out and rolled them onto my wrist. my hair fwumped down my back in a wave, and i was hit by a wave of my own stale shampoo. ugh, i was taking a shower as soon as i woke up. at least the simple action had calmed me down a bit.

we'd reached the building again, all the way to the far side of the lot. there was a thin alleyway between the wall and trees where i could see overflowing dumpsters. so even in dreams people couldn't stop generating garbage, huh? what was directly in front of us was more interesting, though: a rather fancy-looking set of dark oak double doors. one of them was slightly cracked, and Montag pushed it open.

calling it a restaurant seemed kind of generous. it looked like the less interesting sibling of the twin peaks red room, with a black-and-white checkered floor and walls hidden behind thick red drapery. there was a single dining table in the center of the room, with seats for eighteen and candles dripping wax all over the glossy wood. faint jazz music hummed from invisible speakers.

there were cobwebs running between the chair arms and the table. clearly this wasn't a hot spot.

"if you sit down at the head of the table, a plate full of pomegranate seeds appears," Montag said.

"what, like persephone?"

"probably. i wasn't stupid enough to eat any." Montag walked to the far corner of the room, and i didn't see much choice but to follow her. she pushed aside a thick bundle of curtains to reveal the cheery metal walls of an elevator.

"oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me with the goddamn elevators," i muttered as it dinged open. i stepped in after her, but only because if i stayed here i wouldn't have anyone to complain to. "why does everyone else get to use these stupid elevators? you, and that time Blake was following me or whatever, and Sinclair-"

"Sinclair?" Montag said sharply. she whipped around to face me, eyes wide. "you saw him?"

"yeah, that's what i said a few minutes ago. pretty boy. i woke up in the elevator with him like an hour ago, apparently he'd been 'reading,' but he'd found me in the broken hallway. we found Blake in the lounge and she told me you were on the road, and i wanted to go check it out now that i have your sand stuff, and now we're here." i noticed she'd already pressed the button to return to the lounge. it was shuttling at a quick (and blessedly more quiet) pace, so we'd be there in just a moment.

she didn't reply to any of that. she just bit her lip and laced her fingers around her opposite wrist, kneading at the fragile bones where they rooted beneath her pale skin. the doors dinged open, and she practically ran off. i huffed and, after a moment, limped off. but i didn't follow her to the lounge. i didn't have much interest in going back there (especially now that i knew what Lilith - i mean, Silvia - might truly be), and it was probably about time i checked on my room.

when i made it back to my door, i again found myself hesitating to open it. you're being stupid, i told myself. tonight had been weird, but not so weird that i should fear my own room. i turned the handle. it caught, but with a little more forced it clicked and hushed open.